


Push and Pull

by CloudAtlas



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Demons, Female Gabe Jones, Filmmaking, M/M, Succubi & Incubi, Supernatural Elements, Two Night Stands?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24461281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: Bucky really wasn't expecting to see his one night stand at work the next day.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 58
Kudos: 261
Collections: Winterhawk Remix 2020





	Push and Pull

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flowerparrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/gifts).
  * Inspired by [hey there, demons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21189080) by [Flowerparrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish). 



> To quote someone from somewhere: this wasn't the first fic I wrote for this. It wasn't the second. It wasn't even the third. But it was the one I finished. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Thank you (as usual) to **inkvoices** for beta.

It takes a moment for Bucky to work out what wakes him, his mind struggling to consciousness through the fog of sleep. God, he feels like he's made of marshmallow, he’s so relaxed. That guy was an _excellent_ fuck. 

Oh. Oh, that's probably what woke him. 

The mattress dips and Bucky shifts with it, the movement making him intimately aware of every pleasantly aching muscle. 

Truly, an excellent fuck. 

“Mmr,” Bucky manages, his hand reaching lethargically for his bed mate. “Stay.”

The other man laughs quietly, allowing his hand to be caught by Bucky only to lift it to his mouth. He presses a kiss to Bucky's knuckles and Christ if that doesn’t make Bucky melt all over again. 

“Seriously,” Bucky mumbles. “Stay.”

“I’d love to, sweetheart,” the man says – Clint, Bucky suddenly remembers; his name is Clint, “but I’ve got about a hundred things I need to do today. Sorry.”

“Was g’na make pancakes,” Bucky mumbles forlornly into the pillow. Clint definitely deserves pancakes. Fuck of a _lifetime_ , Jesus Christ. 

This time Clint presses a kiss to his temple instead, thumb stroking over the back of Bucky’s hand in a vaguely hypnotic manner. 

“Sorry,” he says again. “Maybe some other time?”

Bucky grumbles, but he’s already falling back asleep, the metronomic brush of Clint’s thumb on his hand matching to his breath and pulling him under. 

“Number,” he says, trying to be demanding but mostly just mumbling into the pillow. 

He's not sure if Clint replies and he doesn’t hear him leave. 

Bucky’s alarm wakes him at 8am. Sunlight slices across his room through his poorly drawn curtains and Bucky stares at the ceiling as he catalogues every single way his body aches, grinning to himself. 

He hadn’t gone out last night with the intention of hooking up. He’d mostly just wanted to dance and forget himself for a while. Then he’d seen Clint at the bar and…

Mykonos is exactly the kind of bar that goes for moody lighting; blues and reds and greens that make _anyone_ look good. But even then Clint has been especially striking, though Bucky couldn’t have really said why. Maybe it was his smirk, which made him look as though he could back up every dirty idea Bucky thought up. Maybe it was the careless grace with which he moved. Whatever it was, it got Bucky into bed and coming his brains out _three times_ on a Sunday night, so it wasn't like it was false advertising. 

Bucky shifts to sit up and gasps as his asshole throbs. _Christ._ Clint had been everything Bucky could have asked for in a hook-up and more. It's a shame he hadn’t been able to make the guy pancakes in thanks. 

Bucky gets up, a slight hitch in his step. He showers and eats breakfast, and debates exactly which of his friends would benefit from a morning update on the excellent sex he just had. He knows Steve is in for a stressful Monday so Bucky decides to be kind and not bother him, Jim’s wife is pregnant so he’s liable to kill Bucky if he gloats too much, and Becca is _his sister_ so… no. 

Gabs it is then. 

**Me:** Guess who got their asshole decimated last night

He grins at her almost immediate reply. 

**Gabrielle Jones:** I don’t want to know

 **Me:** It was me Gabs

 **Gabrielle Jones:** I DON’T WANT TO KNOW

 **Me:** Came three times Gabs. He fucked like a machine

 **Gabrielle Jones:** James Buchanan Barnes I swear to god

 **Me:** I think I astral projected

 **Gabrielle Jones:** BARNES

 **Me:** You’re just jealous

 **Gabrielle Jones:** Of COURSE I’m fucking jealous you prick

 **Gabrielle Jones:** I haven’t got laid in ages

 **Me:** That's what you get for dating a genius

Gabs’ partner Etienne is currently seven months into a yearlong placement with Framestore in London, getting to work side by side with some of the best VFX people in the business, and while Bucky knows Gabs is happy for him, she also misses him something fierce. Bucky tries not to be an ass about it, but sometimes you just have to share about the excellent dicking you got from a random hot blond you picked up in a bar. That’s what friends are _for_ after all. 

**Gabrielle Jones:** HE’S dating the genius. Guess who’s managed to set up a meeting with A24?

Bucky stares at his phone like maybe the words will change and the sentence will become less insane. He blinks, but it’s still there. 

**Me:** Are you shitting me?

He, Gabs and Jim have been struggling to get the ball rolling on a film they want to make for literally two years. Their script has gone through so many revisions that he’s fairly sure it’s perfect, but studios have been wary of signing on. Considering that they only have five short films between the three of them – or four really, as Etienne has done their all VFX shots – Bucky kinda understands. On the other hand, they’ve won awards for two of those films, so it’s not like they don’t know what they’re doing. 

**Gabrielle Jones:** Not even a little

He stares at his phone dumbly for a good minute. Then takes a deep breath and calls her. 

Bucky spends so long video calling Gabs and Jim that he’s almost late for work, skidding into the pre-recording meeting with only seconds to spare. Maria gives him an arched eyebrow, but Nakia and Pepper smile at him and Peter grabs him a coffee so he reckons he's doing okay. 

“Okay,” Maria says, loud enough for everyone to stop what they were doing and pay attention to her. “Now we’re all here,” – she gives Bucky a significant look to which Bucky can only grin, too well-fucked to be chastised – “we can begin.”

They’re filming the last two interview segments for a documentary about the history of metahumans and supernatural beings on film. Steve is, of course, one of those being interviewed – unsurprising as he’s attractive, articulate, and already making big political waves in Washington as well as Were society. Bucky honestly couldn’t be prouder of his childhood friend, even if he did give up their dream of making a film together in favour of his political career. Bucky’s not sure about the other interviewee. Some Demon but beyond that he’s not sure. 

“Pepper and M’Baku, you’re covering Rogers. We’ve got you set up in the theatre auditorium on Blake Street, starting in about half an hour.” Maria checks her notes. “You’ve got the space for as long as you need as they’re not opening to the public until after their renovation. Nakia and Bucky, you’re covering Barton in the theatre café. Same deal as the auditorium but the lighting is trickier. I’m sure Bucky can cope with it though.”

She looks over at Bucky again and he nods. He loves this shit. There’s a reason he wants to become a DOP. 

“Take whatever you need to fix it,” she continues. “Remember the setup from when we did Romanova a couple of months ago. It’s the same deal, just frame it differently so it’s not obvious we used the same space. There were some big wicker lampshades for her stuff, so maybe try the fairy lights this time. Darcy will be doing both sets of make-up. Any questions?”

Everyone shakes their heads.

“Okay, good.” Maria gives them all a stern look. “Hop to it then.”

Bucky should have asked more questions. Bucky should have asked _all the questions,_ especially the ones about his life and his choices, because it turns out that ‘Barton’ is Clint-from-last-night and also an Incubus and suddenly so many things make sense and also Bucky is _fucked_.

“Hi Clint, pleased to finally meet you. I’m Nakia, we spoke on the phone?” Nakia shakes Clint’s hand before ushering him towards the theatre café. “Bucky here is our camera operator for the day and he’ll wire you for sound.”

Clint starts slightly and turns at the sound of Bucky’s name – which Bucky knows because he _can’t stop staring_ – but recovers quickly. His eyes look insanely blue in daylight and when their gazes meet Clint pulls out this ridiculously unfair smirk that _does things_ to Bucky, and for a moment Bucky thinks he’s going to say something, something familiar, but Clint only nods and turns back to Nakia.

Somehow, Bucky still feels like he’s been hit by truck.

Clint in daylight is even more inhumanly alluring than he was at Mykonos. It’s not that he’s particularly good looking – he’d probably be considered above average but nothing special, all told. It’s that he’s _attractive,_ and Bucky never knew there was a distinction until he was faced with it. Bucky feels drawn to him in a way that isn’t quite normal, although it’s subtle, and Bucky can tell Nakia can feel it too because she’s walking closer to Clint that Bucky’s ever seen her with any interviewee ever, her hand coming to his elbow to guide him despite, it seems, her best efforts to maintain professionalism. What is more, Bucky’s fairly sure Clint isn’t _doing_ anything, for the simple fact that he was _very_ explicit about consent when they’d hooked up and someone that concerned with consent during a bar hook-up wouldn’t mess with it in a professional situation, Incubus or no.

Nakia leads Clint to the back corner of the theatre café, Bucky trailing with his camera, where strings of fairy lights and old framed film posters create a laid back ambience completely different to the setting of Romanova’s interview. They’d scoped it as a potential beforehand, thank god, so Bucky has some idea of how to light and shoot it without having to think too much now. Because he can’t. Like, at all.

Clint’s wearing a thin purple cotton t-shirt, a leather jacket, and fashionable jeans. It’s not what he was wearing last night, which is a terrible thought for Bucky to be having because now he’s remembering what Clint’s _was_ wearing last night and, _god_ , people should not be allowed to make white t-shirts look _that fucking good_.

“Bucky?”

Bucky tears his gaze from Clint to find Nakia looking at him in concern. In his periphery, Bucky notes Clint settle himself in the bench seat running along the wall, thankfully out of earshot.

“Yeah?”

“You gonna wire him for sound, or do you want me to?”

Bucky’s not sure what his face does at that suggestion but, whatever it is, it makes Nakia grin.

“You look like you want to eat him alive,” she says, eyes bright with mischief.

“No,” Bucky says, trying to keep his voice low and level and only partially succeeding, “I look like I just met my hook-up at work.”

Nakia’s expression becomes a perfect picture of delighted shock. “Bucky, you _didn’t_.” Bucky glares at her half-heartedly and she laughs in reply. “Oh, this is _brilliant_. Was he good?”

Bucky glances over at Clint but he’s been swooped on by Darcy, who must have just finished making up Steve in the auditorium, and they’re laughing about something and not paying Bucky or Nakia the slightest bit of attention.

“What do _you_ think?” he says, grabbing a mic pack and attempting to muster some professionalism from _somewhere_ in preparation for basically messing with Clint’s t-shirt. Then he catches Nakia’s eye and she’s giving him a look that’s clearly saying _tell me more._ Bucky sighs, pretending to be put-upon but now fighting a grin. He loves working with Nakia, she’s so much _fun_.

“Fuck of a lifetime,” he says conspiratorially, grinning as he leans towards her. “I can still feel it.”

Nakia laughs loud enough to draw Clint and Darcy’s attention, and Bucky takes the opportunity to head over and mic Clint up.

Clint looks at him the entire time, gaze steady and direct, and Bucky would be flustered but he got too well fucked last night – _by Clint –_ for him to care over much.

“You didn’t leave your number,” Bucky says as he leans in to rearrange the mic on Clint’s collar.

Clint raises an eyebrow. “Yeah I did.”

Bucky had checked everywhere he could think of – bedside table, kitchen table, hall table, fridge – but he hadn’t found anything. Clint’s expression doesn’t _look_ like he’s lying though. Bucky frowns.

“Maybe you were distracted,” Clint says with a grin and, god, he looks smug. He’d even be _right_ to, if Gabs hadn’t called about the A24 meeting. As it is, he’s only partially right. Bucky _was_ distracted, but in the end it wasn’t by Clint.

Or at least, not entirely. He was, after all, an _excellent_ fuck.

“Maybe,” Bucky says, before walking away to tweak his camera set up.

Bucky has always been impressed with the amount of information the folks at Stark Productions dig up for these documentaries. Of course that’s their _job_ , but it’s also one of the reasons Bucky likes working for them even if he’d prefer to be writing and shooting his own movies with his buddies. Nevertheless, filming interview segments like this is always fascinating and Bucky always comes away from them learning about a hundred new things he wants to turn into scripts, or costume designs, or sets.

Man, he hopes their meeting with A24 goes well. He wants to make a movie _so bad_.

Bucky has a feeling, though, that this interview is going to go a _little_ differently.

They settle, Bucky adjusting the light diffusers and checking the viewfinder one last time, and then Nakia begins.

“Okay, to start: what is your biggest problem with the portrayal of Demons in movies?”

Clint grins and it’s only because he’s looking at Nakia rather than directly into the camera that Bucky doesn’t make some completely embarrassing sound. Urgh, he’s so fucking _attractive_. Bucky’s asshole throbs and he clenches on nothing. Wow, this interview is going to be _a lot_.

“My biggest problem with the portrayal of Demons in movies is that we’re always the bad guys,” Clint says, not needing to be prompted to repeat Nakia’s question for context. “Though, if you’re talking about my _specific_ designation, then my biggest problem is that Incubi and Succubi are always, _always_ , hookers.”

There’s a pull in Bucky’s gut as Clint says ‘hookers’, deliberate and _strong_ , and he fights to stifle a groan, glaring at Clint from behind the camera. It’s absolutely unfair that Clint’s fucking with him now, when he can’t _do_ anything about it. It’s even more unfair that Clint can continue to be a consummate professional – not looking once at Bucky or the camera, providing Nakia with intelligent and insightful comments, and being funny to boot – all while Bucky practically squirms on the chair he suddenly can’t leave because he’s _sporting an erection at work_.

And Clint does it _all through the interview_ ; intermittently reaching out and pulling at every stray tendril of desire Bucky’s horny enough to let loose. Bucky could stop it, he knows that he could – something made clear to him last night when Clint had leaned over and said _if you say no, lift your hands, make any negative move, we stop, yeah?_ – but he doesn’t, because for some godforsaken reason everything about this situation is making him hot. When Nakia calls an end to the first half of the interview Bucky’s almost vibrating with want, but Clint only smirks at him before promising to be back in five and ducking outside.

Nakia takes one look at him and bursts out laughing.

“I won’t judge you if you fuck him in the bathroom after.”

“Yeah, you will.”

She pulls a considering face.

“Yeah, okay, I will. But only a little. He’s hot for a white guy,” she says, then laughs again at his indignant expression.

Then Clint comes back and they set themselves up again, Darcy doing touch ups and Bucky reattaching the mic pack, Clint smirking the whole time. Bucky’s braced for a continuation, almost _anticipating_ that strange overwhelming pull of desire Clint can elicit and only half-heartedly wishing he wasn’t as into this as he’s turning out to be, but nothing happens. Instead, for the last couple of hours Bucky sits in heightened anticipation of something that never comes and somehow that’s _even worse_. So by the time Nakia calls time on the entire endeavour Bucky is so turned on he could die, which is ridiculous because for the last three or so hours Clint _hasn’t done anything at all._

“I hate you so much,” Bucky mutters as he helps Clint remove his mic pack.

Clint grins. “Uh huh,” he says, stretching enough to make his spine pop and revealing a strip of skin at his hip. “So I guess you’ll say no if I ask you for a drink at Nuku then?”

Bucky stares at him, hit with the hallucinatory reality that an Incubus is asking him for a drink after fucking him into the mattress last night and then _turning up to Bucky’s workplace_ the next day. Shit like this only happens in the kind of weird niche porn that Bucky totally doesn’t watch at all, honestly.

He takes a breath and wraps the mic wires around the battery pack, carefully packing it back into its case.

“How about,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, “you wait until after I drop the footage back off at the office and then we skip Nuku and just go back to mine?”

Clint’s smile is blinding.

Bucky swims to consciousness slowly – falling awake, almost – though unlike yesterday morning he knows exactly what happened last night, and exactly what woke him.

Clint’s trying to leave again.

“Mmno,” Bucky slurs out, managing to clamp a hand around Clint’s wrist before he gets very far and forcing him to stay wrapped around Bucky’s middle. “Pancakes.”

Clint’s laugh is low and gentle, and he leans over to press a kiss to Bucky’s temple.

“I’m only going for a piss,” he says, still trying to shift away. “I’m coming back.”

Bucky loosens his grip slightly but still doesn’t fully let go. “Do demons even piss?” he mumbles into the pillow. Somehow, now that he knows what Clint is, mundane things like pissing and laundry and paying rent seem too… _normal_ for him.

“If I pissed in your bed, would that prove it to you?”

Bucky lets go, and Clint presses a laughing kiss to the knob of his spine before rolling out of bed and heading for the bathroom.

Bucky makes to roll over onto his back, wanting to stretch his back until it cracks, but even that tiny movement causes aches to flare all through his body and he hisses. His ass throbs, feeling tender and sore, but his thighs ache too, and his lower back and his shoulders and… holy crap. He feels like an old man. An old man who _got fucked_. Jesus Christ. Something catches in his chest and tugs, residual desires swirling in his veins and reminding him of the absolute absurdity of everything that happened last night.

They’d stood too close on the subway, Clint’s proximity enough to make Bucky’s head swim once he didn’t have to worry about work colleagues seeing him loose his shit. They’d made out like teenagers on his couch and Clint had jerked him off until he’d shot his load over his own t-shirt before gently coaxing Bucky to his knees, Bucky sucking Clint off with the unabashed enthusiasm of a man who _really likes_ using his mouth.

And then, _and then_ –

Clint had asked if he’d like to get fucked, and when Bucky reminded him that he’d literally _just come_ , Clint had pointed to himself goofily and said, “Incubus, remember?” which – yeah, really fucking hot, for some reason. But then he’d run a knuckle down the side of Bucky’s face, pressed a thumb to Bucky’s bottom lip, gently kissed Bucky, and asked, “Hey, can I pull?”

And for a moment Bucky didn’t have the first fucking clue what he meant. Then he’d remembered the interview and that strange, overwhelming tug in his gut, and he said yes.

“You sure? It’s a lot.”

And, now that Bucky is awake and aware and able to look back with clear eyes, all he can say is that Clint _really wasn’t fucking lying_ because having sex with an incubus while they’re pulling is like shoving his whole hand into a plug socket. It’s like being flung out into space while wrapped in silk and fire. It’s like every sexual fantasy his horny fourteen-year-old self ever thought up run through a fun house mirror while high.

Clint had _wrecked_ him, so thoroughly there are long smears of time that only exist in Bucky’s head as jewel bright kaleidoscopes of pleasure.

Bucky manages to roll himself over onto his back, sliding a hand between his legs to prod gently at his hole, finding it tender and slightly open but thankfully clean. Clint must have wiped him down once they’d finished, though Bucky has no recollection of it. That was nice of him.

God. Bucky feels so _good_.

He hears footsteps, padding through his apartment and back into his room and Bucky’s just beginning to happily imagine napping with Clint wrapped around him again when something sticky is pressed against his forehead.

“What the fuck?” he mumbles, reaching up to remove whatever-the-fuck-it-is as every muscle protests the movement. Wow, he hadn’t realised earlier how fucked his voice sounds. He _sounds_ like he’s been sucking cock.

The bed dips.

“Told you I’d left you my number,” Clint says quietly as Bucky squints up at the yellow post-it note in his hand. “I’d stuck it to the back of your door but apparently that was too subtle for you.”

“Fuck off,” Bucky mumbles, trying to hide how his heart skips at the sight of the two kisses Clint had scrawled across the bottom. Falling for an Incubus would be a very stupid thing to do.

“Can’t,” Clint replies, sliding back under the covers and pressing up against Bucky’s side, “I’ve been promised pancakes.”

Bucky grins up at the ceiling.


End file.
